Alone

She was cold again. The wind rattled her bedside window, slipping frosty fingers through hairline cracks in the wall surrounding it. The thin pane of glass did little against the chilly January air; Margot could see her breath before her each time she exhaled, misting in a fine cloud that shimmered like dew on the cold glass.

She drew the bedclothes tighter around her body. Through the window she could see the lights of the city below her, Christmas decorations still hanging in the shops and stalls lining the street, and people milling about laughing. Last night there had been a great big fireworks show over at the city hall, the rockets exploding across the skies like red and pink and orange dragons, and when the countdown to the new year finally ended everyone clapped and gave a great big cheer that sounded like the roaring of the faraway sea.

Margot shivered and turned away from the rattling window. From downstairs she could hear Mrs Harris, her housekeeper, moving about in the kitchen as she prepared tonight's dinner. The woman was as thick-boned as an ox and built like one too, but for all that there was a certain softness in her that always seemed to soothe Margot every time she woke in a cold sweat, hardly able to breathe and screaming for her parents. The doctor had prescribed her a lot of sedatives after the accident that robbed her of the use of her left leg, and sometimes when she lay in bed alone she wished the crash had taken her too.

Along with them.

She still remembered it like it had been only yesterday. Cruising along the streets with the windows down and a crisp wind blowing in her hair. Her dad at the wheel. The radio going. Her mother singing along tunelessly to Mariah Carey's All I Want For Christmas is You, when Christmas was still a month away. The six-wheeler coming fast around the corner. Her mother suddenly screaming "Look out!"

Margot trembled.

Afterward all she remembered was a horrible screeching sound and a sharp blow to her head, and then everything had gone dark. When she woke up in the hospital two days later and found out her parents were dead, it was like a part of her had died along with them. And then there was her leg, and the fact that she would use a crutch for the rest of her life. The doctor said she was lucky to have survived; Margot thought it was just her bad luck that she didn't die with them.

Christmas had been a horrible, painful affair filled with drugs and needles and more surgeries than she could count. The pain had been a constant thing, like the harsh hospital lights and the sterile smell and the cold metal screws they fused into her spine. She cried every day, and when she wasn't crying she was unconscious, but it had passed eventually, and the rest of the festive season remained a grey blur in her mind.

A strong gust of wind rattled the window and shook her from her thoughts. A song was playing downstairs. Mrs Harris was done cooking, it seemed, for Margot could hear her heavy footfalls as she climbed the stairs.

"Dinner is reeeady," Mrs Harris called up in a jovial, singsong voice.

Margot turned back towards the window and pulled the bedclothes over her head.

"Margooot?"

She shivered and closed her eyes.

The door behind her opened, and the dark bedroom was flooded with light as Mrs Harris flicked on the switch. She said nothing for a while, and Margot could imagine her standing by the open doorway with her hands on her waist and her chest heaving with each heavy breath she took.

"Are you alright?" Mrs Harris asked.

Margot closed her eyes tighter and pretended to be asleep.

"Margot?"

She heard the woman step into the room and close the door behind her, heard her move about softly like she didn't want to wake her. Then Mrs Harris was by the bed, tapping her shoulder, and without warning Margot felt the bedclothes yanked off her in one smooth, swift motion.

"Got ya!"

The sudden rush of cold air made her gasp out loud, and Mrs Harris was there, laughing, reaching across to bolt the window tighter.

"Pretending to be asleep eh," she was saying. "And all alone in this dark room too." She reached down to tickle Margot, who squealed and tried to fight her off.

"Noo. Geroff me."

"Not until you promise to be a good girl and stop sulking about your condition."

"I wasn't sulking," Margot said with a laugh. "I was brooding. You won't understand."

"Oh I won't?"

"Yeah you w— Stop!"

She sat up then, shuffling back against the headboard and raising her arms to fend off the bigger woman. "Okay," she said, still laughing. "Okay okay. I give up."

"Good."

Margot lowered her arms and dragged the bedclothes back up around her neck, then scowled up at Mrs Harris. "Gosh you're so motherly."

"You need it," Mrs Harris said, crossing her arms and looking down kindly at her. "Especially in this difficult time, what with you so vulnerable and all—"

"I'm not vulnerable!"

"Whatever you say." Mrs Harris smiled. Then she jerked a thumb over her shoulder and said: "Dinner's ready. Come downstairs or I'll tickle you again."

Afterward they sat down to a lovely meal of pasta and grilled cheese, with mashed potatoes and carrots and sandwiches made of toasted brown bread spread with butter and pear chutney. Mrs Harris had outdone herself for the new year celebration, and by the time dinner was done Margot was feeling a lot better than she had done ever since the accident in early November. An hour later they sat down to watch some TV, Margot lying under a duvet and flipping lazily through the channels while Mrs Harris sank down on the sofa with her crotchet.

All the stations were showing the new year celebrations; the second fireworks show had started already, and Margot watched as the camera panned slowly over the heads of the crowd gathered in front of the city hall as they watched the rockets explode with collective gasps of 'Oohs' and 'Aahs.' When the last firework went off the crowd cheered and clapped again, and the camera panned up at the spectacular display to give the viewers at home something good to look at.

Margot sighed and leaned her head back against the chair. A wind rattled the windows, and the flames Mrs Harris had lit in the fireplace crackled merrily, throwing their warm glow over everything. Not for the first time Margot found herself wishing her parents were still around, or that she wasn't an only child. She sighed again, then sat up after a while and glanced at Mrs Harris.

"Mrs Harris?" Margot said.

"Hmm."

"I think you should take the rest of the day off, y'know, it being New Year and all."

Mrs Harris snorted. "And leave you here all by yourself? Not happening."

"I'm serious," Margot said. "I can take care of myself for a day." She reached down for her crutch and stood as if to prove her point, then hobbled around the parlor before getting back in her chair. "See."

"Yep," Mrs Harris said, not taking her eyes off her crotchet. "Still not going anyway. Doctor's orders."

Margot sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, and if she smiled to herself then, Mrs Harris never saw it. But for once Margot was glad of her company. She was glad of the older woman's warm, motherly softness and of the way Mrs Harris always seemed to improve her mood. Her parents were gone, ripped from her by a cruel turn of fate, and for the first time in her life Margot found herself alone and without family.

But somehow she wasn't quite alone.

Margot smiled again and went up to bed.